Bounce (18 page)

“Can't you stay at a hotel or something?”

He shakes his head. “Money's a little tight right now. I'm giving Adam almost every penny to pay him back for the house, and I don't really have . . .” Again, he goes silent, and I can
feel,
literally, the tension of him wanting to talk, wanting to say more to someone. Needing it.

“Why don't you come stay at our place?” Mia blurts. We have that in common. The blurting thing. “I mean, I'm just about all moved out, so there's room.”

Ay, dios. No. No.

But I can't say anything. I can't tell my best friend, who knows I'm talking to Brooks, starting to maybe, sort of, think about where that could go, that having Grey in my apartment, so close
all the time,
is a very dangerous, very bad idea.

Grey shakes his head. “Nah, I appreciate it, but I'm cool here. I promise. Thanks, though.” He takes a few steps toward a squat gray building with weather-beaten shutters and a tiny, shed-like garage in the back. “I'll see you guys tomorrow.”

“Hang on,” says Mia, pulling me along. She gives me a look, tipping her head in his direction, like she's tapping me in for the debate. “You're cool with it, right, Sky?”

“Of course.” Not. In no way. “But it seems like he's got it under control here. So, if—”

My words disappear, though, because Grey's pulled up the garage door, the muscles of his broad back and shoulders shifting smoothly as he thrusts the door up along its rusting track.

“See?” he says, pointing to a lumpy white couch sporting what looks like a half-century's worth of mystery stains—a perfect complement to the funk of beer and weed and sweat potent enough to make my eyes water. “Perfectly fine, right?”

But, like me, he's lousy at hiding his feelings. Even turned away to shove some empty beer cans into a garbage bag, his body language tells me everything.

He doesn't want to be here in this musty space, crowded with furniture and audio equipment, the only natural light coming in from the tiny half-moon windows set into the garage door, which faces a dim alleyway.

“You should come stay with us,” I say, surprising the hell out of us both. “I mean, this is . . .”

“It's fine,” Grey insists. “I don't need much, and I'm hardly ever here.”

I think how different he is from Brooks, who says what he means, tells you—without hesitation—what he wants.

“Come on,” says Mia.

“Seriously,” he tells us. “It's really nice of you to ask, but I'm fine. I can't afford—”

“I paid up on the place through the end of the lease,” Mia says. “You can just chip in on food and utilities. I'm sure you can manage that, right? It's only for a few weeks.
And
you'd be rooming with two awesome, superhot girls. How can you say no to that?”

He looks at me, and I can see he's worried about the same things I am. Rooming together. Being too close, constantly one second away from making a really dumb choice. He's young and too reckless for me. And a musician, on top of it all. He's everything I don't need sharing my space.

But something tugs at me, makes me put all of those concerns aside. I see it in his smoke-gray eyes, which are so alive, so deep and full of thoughts. Some pain or fear lives there. Something that makes it so hard for him to accept. To take a simple kindness. It's not just about me but about trusting. Anything.

Seeing that, I can't let him spend another night in this crappy place. Just . . . ​alone.

“You should come home with us,” I say. “It will be . . . ​a lot better than this, I promise.”

He moves around behind a low table and starts in on clearing away takeout bags, emptying ashtrays. “I can't contribute much. It just wouldn't be cool.”

God, he's so stubborn.

But then so am I.

“Well, how about a trade?” I suggest. “My car's never coming out of the shop, and it's going to be a while before the money stuff gets sorted. So, how about I take you up on using your truck? In exchange for you coming to stay. That's fair, right?”

“You can use my truck anyway. I already offered.”

“I know. But that didn't feel right to me, either. This does.”

“What about Beth? Don't you have to ask her?”

Mia waves a hand. “She'll be fine. You don't know how many people come in and out of that place. She won't care.”

He looks at me for confirmation.

“It's true,” I tell him. “It's practically a flophouse. One more body will hardly register.”

Which of course makes me think of his body under the shower. His hand on my throat. That kiss. I may be signing up for a lot of temptation, but it just feels—so much—like the right thing to do. And I'm a grown woman. I can keep my hands to myself.

“Please, Grey. It'll be fine. I promise.”

“Okay,” he says. “Okay. That would be great. Let's do it.”

  
Chapter 21
  

Grey

W
e're ordering pizza from Johnny's,” Mia says, dropping her purse on the kitchen counter. “Are you okay with pepperoni and pineapple?” she asks me.

“Um . . . ​on the same pizza?”

Beth's sprawled on her back on the shag area rug, her feet propped up on the coffee table. She's been on the phone since I walked in five minutes ago. She didn't even bother to hang up when Mia and Skyler explained that I'll be staying here for a few weeks. She just held the phone away from her head, then said, “Sup, roomie,” and went back to her conversation. She seems pretty chill.

“It's a good flavor pairing, trust me.” Mia fishes her phone out of her purse. “The pineapple is a perfect foil for their spicy pepperoni. I'll order a combo, too, in case your friend wants to come over. There are drinks in the fridge. Help yourself to anything.”

“Great.” I shoot Titus the address, telling him to get here now. The dinner with his parents fell through. They're both lawyers and neither of them could get out of the office in time, which works out for me. I'm out of my depth and I could use him as backup. This is where I'm living for a few weeks, but I don't actually know where I
go
. I feel like a suitcase someone hasn't bothered to unpack and put away yet.

Skyler plops onto the couch and smiles at me. “Don't worry. You'll get used to it.”

I think she means the funky pizza, but maybe she means being swallowed into the Mia-Beth-Skyler vortex. Mia just finished telling me I can use her bedroom furniture, since she and Ethan want to get some new things. Things are changing fast around me. I'm starting to worry there'll be a Grey makeover in my future.

While Mia orders the pizzas, I head back into the adjoining living room. Beth's blocking access to the only unoccupied chair. The girl's got legs. And sitting next to Skyler on the couch doesn't seem like a good call. It's not that the couch is small. It's more that I'm big, and that she sat in the middle, kind of monopolizing it. Why am I analyzing this? Screw it. I sit down next to her.

“So here we are,” she says, without looking at me. “In my . . . ​I mean
our
apartment.”

“Yep.” There's a framed picture of her with Beth and Mia on the wall, from when she had blond hair. She looks great. It makes her more wholesome, more Kentucky. But I think I like the pink better. She's damn hot, either way.

Skyler drums her fingers on her jeans. “It's nice to be away from the studio. We're there so much.”

“Except no craft services.”

“True, but no spotlights, either. That's a plus.”

“And fewer people.”

“Well, Beth.”

“Right. But she's not listening to us.”

I'm not even sure
we're
listening to us. Why is this so awkward? Why did I tell her she was beautiful earlier, in her trailer?

This is painful. What's the right move here?

I turn toward her, because it's weird that we're both facing forward. Now her face is only inches from mine. Now I'm trying not to look at her mouth, and trying not to stare into her eyes, and trying not to look like I
can't
look into her eyes.

It's cool. No big deal. I'm just going to be living in her apartment. I might get to see her step out of the shower in a towel, or in her pajamas. Maybe they're tiny pajamas. Maybe she sleeps in one of those shiny, nighty things. Or a t-shirt. That seems more her style. Something soft and pink, like she was wearing in her headshot.

Shit. I've been staring. “So, um . . .”

“Yes?”

“You're kind of a couch hog.” My shoulders are tight from surfing, and I want to sprawl out, stretch them, so I lean back, extend my legs, and drape my arm over the back of the couch. Better. “You're going to have to work on that, if we're going to be roommates.”

I weigh so much more than she does that the cushions sag my way and she becomes a sort of Leaning Tower of Skyler.

“I'm not a couch hog,” she says, scooting away from me. “It's your fault for being so big.”

“Most girls don't complain.”

She laughs. “You really should get over yourself.”

“I will if you will.”

“Deal.”

“Wait, hold up. I don't like that deal.”

She smiles. “Too late.”

I feel like we're finally getting over some nerves here. Getting back to feeling comfortable around each other. Beth is talking to someone about eyebrow piercings. She's pinching the skin over her eye to test how much it would hurt. Mia's disappeared. The bathroom fan is on; she's in there. I don't think I've ever been this aware of where people are. I'm like an air traffic controller for girls.

I bump my knee against Skyler's. “So you got your first week out of the way. How do you feel?”

“Honestly? I'm hanging in there, but . . . ​I'm tired.”

I've noticed her eyes are glossy tonight, and there are faint shadows beneath them. They weren't there the day of the first audition. I can't imagine pulling her hours. The time she's shooting is only a fraction of it. Even when she and Garrett are in their trailers, they're running lines or doing publicity stuff, or waiting—which isn't relaxing. When I perform, it's a huge rush while I'm onstage. It's a two-hour sprint. Sky and Garrett, they're on all day. They're doing daily marathons.

“Anything I can do?”

“
Would
you? Do something, I mean?”

“I offered. Name it.”

She shakes her head. The way she's looking at me, it's like she's measuring me. Trying to figure me out. She's the only person who makes me feel young, and it's when she looks at me this way. It sucks. I've lived a lot for nineteen. I've seen a lot, been through a lot. If age is experience, I'm at least her age.

“Sky, stop looking at me like—”

Someone knocks on the door, and Beth jumps up to answer it.

“Hey, is—” Titus almost drops the twelve-pack under his arm when he sees Beth. “Whoa . . . ​Hi.”

“I gotta go,” Beth says into the phone and stuffs it into her pocket.

If love at first sight were something I believed in, it'd be happening right now. Neither one of them says a word for five full seconds while their pheromones introduce themselves, chat it over, and decide,
yes. Yes, I find you very attractive.

“I'm Titus,” he finally says. “Grey's friend. We're in a band together. I'm lead guitar. Backup vocals sometimes, for songs that need backup, uh, vocals. Hope it's okay I'm crashing. I brought beer for . . . ​for us to drink.”

Beth fills in her half of the equation with the roommate info, the acting info, the college info, and then double rainbows arc over their heads, and they're both laughing at nothing—seriously,
nothing
funny. Something about the beer Titus brought.